


New World Order

by subversivegrrl



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Caryl, F/M, Fluff, dirty tricks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:18:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subversivegrrl/pseuds/subversivegrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carol's not above playing dirty, and takes some tips from a Renaissance man.  Caryl one-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New World Order

**There is nothing more difficult to take in hand, more perilous to conduct, or more uncertain in its success, than to take the lead in the introduction of a new order of things.** \-- Niccolo Macchiavelli

 

* * *

 

Daryl woke to a single beam of sunlight grazing his eyelids, and turned his head into the pillow, not wanting to have to give up his warm bed and go out and face the day.  He hunched his shoulders and scooted down a few inches, burying himself more deeply under the blanket, and jumped as he realized the warmth wrapped around him was less from the wool and more from the slender body that was spooned firmly against his bare back.

The slender, _nude_ body. The slender, nude body that seemed to be waking as well, and was now stretching itself and pressing even more tightly against him.

_What the hell._

Okay, really good, really _vivid_ dream. Wouldn’t be the first time. Come to think of it, he’d been having really good and vivid dreams along the same lines for a couple of months, now. Dreams that had him waking almost every day with morning wood like he hadn’t experienced since he was a teenager, and all featuring the same creamy skin and blue eyes and wicked smile.

The phantasmic nude had now snaked an arm over his ribs and was idly playing a hand over his chest, making his insides lurch between adrenaline-fueled nausea and a pure rush of lust. _Whoa. Definitely not a dream._

Wide awake now and half-panicky, Daryl racked his brain for an explanation. Hadn’t been drunk. Wasn’t feverish. Hadn’t gotten hit in the head - as far as he could recall. _Let’s go with ‘having an amnesiac episode of some sort.’_ Maybe he’d had a stroke. _Fuck, he was gonna have a stroke if that hand headed south-bound. _

Carol’s voice was muffled against his shoulder. “Morning. ”

That did it. He jerked upright, shoving himself back against the rail of his bunk and staring down into Carol’s sleepy face.

She opened one eye and gave him a little half-smile, looking for all the world like the cat that ate the canary.  "Looks like I’m not the only one sleeping in. Good thing, too - you were dead on your feet when you came in last night."

“Carol, what the _FUCK_!!!”

“Oh, cool your jets, tiger. Nothing happened.” She rolled onto her back, pulling the blanket up to cover herself. “I got caught in the same rain you did, apparently, and there wasn’t anything clean to put on, so I just got in bed like this. I was too tired to climb up, and I wasn’t expecting you back, so I took your bunk. You didn’t even notice when you got in, just took your wet clothes off, laid down, and you were _gone_. I didn’t have the heart to wake you and make you let me out.”

By now Daryl’s heart rate had evened out, and he had regained enough presence of mind to realize his bare hindquarters were nearly exposed to the gaze of anyone who happened to pass by, thanks to Carol’s pirating the sole blanket for her own modesty. “Do me a favor and turn over, wouldya? I need to get my pants.” She put on a pout and dropped the edge of the blanket, allowing it to mold neatly to her breasts. She turned toward the wall, giving him a clear shot of her naked back, from her shoulders to the crack of her ass, which caused him to suck in a sharp breath and virtually fling himself out of the bed.

Her voice sounded like she was stifling an urge to laugh. “Tell Beth when you see her that I’ll be down in just a few minutes to give her a hand with breakfast.”

He threw on the previous night’s soggy jeans, stuffed his feet into his boots, grabbed his damp shirt and fled the cell, nearly tripping over the basket of laundry that sat on the floor by the door. He was halfway down the stairs when it hit him that the basket’s contents had been _folded_.  He started to turn back, to march up there and ask her just what the hell she was playing at, but his nerve failed him. _No way he was going to go have an argument with the naked woman in his bed. That was just asking for more trouble._ Grumbling under his breath, he went to grab some food and get the hell out before she screwed with his head any further.

* * *

Carol heard his muttered curse as he dodged the basket on the way out, and then the pause in his footsteps on the stairs. She smiled to herself, slid out of bed, and reached for a pair of clean, dry pants.

 _Bless that haphazard mess of a prison library, and my eclectic taste in reading_ , she thought. Who knew political strategy could be so handy in conducting an affair of the heart?

**Author's Note:**

> Entrepreneurs are simply those who understand that there is little difference between obstacle and opportunity and are able to turn both to their advantage. --Niccolo Machiavelli


End file.
